


Bring Her Back To Me

by theoldthetruethebrave



Category: Asoiaf - Fandom, Jonsa - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: F/M, jonsa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-13 01:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18458636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldthetruethebrave/pseuds/theoldthetruethebrave
Summary: Sansa Stark is dead, and Jon Snow is in pieces. However, there might just be a way to bring her back to him. But what will it cost?





	1. chpt one

chpt one

Jon paced about the room restlessly, lightheaded and his heart pounding against his ribcage like a prisoner ramming at the bars of his cell. Jon digs his fists into his hair, squeezes his eyes shut so the tears won’t cascade down his face like a million tiny rivers. 

She’s dead. She’s dead. And it’s my fault. 

Without warning, he suddenly smashes his fist against the stone wall and releases a heavy sob. He pulls his hand back and sees blood glistening on his knuckles.

“Sansa would want you to go on, Jon, you know that” Davos says from across the room nervously, not knowing what Jon will do next. “Please, listen”

“I can’t” Jon says. His voice is hoarse. Of course it is. He’s been screaming his throat raw for the past hour. “I can’t go on...not without her”

“Jon, this is madness, listen to me” Davos says, and starts to walk across the room to Jon, but Jon holds out the palm of his hand, like a stop sign. 

“Don’t” Jon says, his voice cracking. 

His dry, sandpaper-like tongue scrapes over the roof of his mouth as he turns around to see her. 

The silent sisters fixed her up nicely. Her hair, her beautiful long, crimson coloured hair, falls down her chest in delicate curls. Even now, Jon has the urge to run his fingers through those copper locks.

Her face looks so serene. If Jon could pretend, make himself believe so, she could just be sleeping. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted, as if she had just spoken. Her cheeks still have a bit of pink to them, like she had just blushed at something he said to her.

Suddenly feeling like his legs were made of nothing but air, Jon crashes to his feet, his knees buckling underneath him. 

“Bring her back to me” Jon murmurs into the cold, stone floor. “Bring her back”

But of course, there’s no way that could be possible. She’s gone. Far away now, blanketed in an eternal darkness. 

“If I could’ve gotten to Kings Landing quicker” Jon says, talking to himself. “If I had grabbed her from Cersei’s vile hands, then maybe-maybe...”

“Stop it, you cannot blame yourself!” Davos scolds. Jon can hear the old man sigh for a moment, a rough, ragged sound. “But, maybe, if...”

“Melisandre is nowhere near here” Jon says, getting up to stand on his knees, as if he were about to pray. “And by the time she would get here, it’d be too late”

“I’m not talking about Melisandre” Davos’ words are a slow echo inside of the walls in Jon’s head.


	2. chpt two

chpt two

The cold winds outside howl like lone wolves. Jon crouches next to the fireplace, holding out his palms for warmth. 

Sansa, or really, her body, lays a few feet behind him. Jon hasn’t left her since he found her dead in Kings Landing. He still remembers how his heart shattered like fragile pieces of glass when he saw her. His first instinct was to wake her up, but nothing could wake her up from the dark sleep she will be in for the rest of Jon’s days.

Jon knows that Sansa should be placed in the crypts, beside her father, mother, and brothers, but a part of him can’t bear to let her go.

Suddenly the door to his chambers fly open, and expecting to see Davos, since he left about ten minutes ago, saying something about finding Bran. Jon leaps to his feet. But instead of Davos, Arya stands in the doorway, out of breath. She stares at Sansa’s body, her mouth shaking.

“So it’s true” she says quietly, staring down at her feet. “The Lady of Winterfell is dead”

“Aye” Jon replies. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, seeing her...like this”

“Even in death she’s beautiful” Arya says, walking over to stand next to Jon by the fireplace. 

“I know” Jon feels a sob hike up his throat, but he pushes it away, blinks away the salty tears that swim in his vision. I have to be strong for Arya, he thinks. 

“Gendry told me what happened” Arya says. “I...couldn’t believe him. I had to see for myself”

Gendry, Theon and Jon were the ones that slipped out of Winterfell to Kings Landing before the Dragon Queen could notice. Arya was furious, wanting to come herself, but Jon told her that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. 

Jon twists the thread-bare ring on his finger, slides it up and down. She my wife, and I let her die. We said our vows before the Godswood...

Jon can still remember that night. How the snow fell gently across their faces, how absolutely breathtaking Sansa looked in her white wedding dress. And when he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his fears melted away inside of his head and vanished. 

Gods, send me to the deepest of seven hells when I die. 

“We have so many enemies now” Arya says, staring into the cracking, spitting fire. “We have Cersei, the Night King, and now the Dragon Queen”

Jon closes his eyes, not wanting to see the dark world around him. 

When the Dragon Queen found out that Jon was leaving her to go to Sansa’s aid, her anger was a living thing, a snake twirling around Jon’s body, tightening and tightening.

“You mean to leave me, your wife, just to rescue your sister?” she had said. 

You’re not my wife, Jon had thought. And Sansa’s not my sister. 

Jon always knew that the Dragon Queen was dangerous. You could see it in her eyes, a glowing, terrifying light. When she had found out that Jon was a Targaryen, she made him swear that he wouldn’t attempt to take the Iron Throne from her. Jon almost laughed at her. Gods, what would he ever want in that spiky, cold chair?

“Jon, I have to ask you something” Arya says, her voice just above a whisper, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “Is what Cersei said, about Sansa being....being...pregnant true?”

Jon couldn’t stop the tears this time. They gushed down his eyes, hot and heavy. “Yes. Now, please, find me Davos”


	3. chpt three

chpt three 

When Davos came into Jon’s chambers and saw Arya, he sighed heavily. 

“I’m sorry, my Lady” he said, giving a bow of his head. “Truly”

“It’s not your fault, Ser Davos” Arya says. In a certain light, Jon could almost see tears glistening in her eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Bran and Sam...they have a way of, er, returning the dead back to life. But it’s dangerous, your Grace”

“Whatever it takes” Jon says. His eyes flick over to Sansa’s body, and he feels those knives plunging into his chest all over again. 

“Meet me in the Godswood when you’re ready” Davos says. “But please, Jon, think about this” Davos turns, and with a flick of his cape, disappears down the hall.

“Me and Gendry will take her to the Godswood” Arya says, staring into Jon’s eyes. She reaches her arm over, squeezes his shoulder. “I think you should see Danaerys”

Her name is a slap to Jon’s face. He doesn’t want to see her, not now, but he knows he has a lot of explaining to do. Nodding, he curtly leaves the room, exiting from the warmth of the fireplace to the cold arms of the hallway.

Odd as it is, Winterfell feels colder without Sansa. As if a permanent chill has settled upon its walls like a dust, shivers permanently on Jon’s skin like insects.

Knocking softly on Danaerys’ door, his thudding heartbeat in his ears, Jon braces himself.

“Come in” 

He pushes the door open and finds Danaerys on her bed, candles all around her. She hates the North. She knows it, Jon knows it, and his people know it. She hates the cold. Jon knows that she longs for the warmth the South only can give her. Four Unsullied guards stand in each corner of the room. Jon knows that even with his Longclaw, if they advance on him, he’d surely die. 

A Southern girl, he thinks. She doesn’t belong here.

“I reckon you’re here to apologize to me” she says, her tone colder than the world around him. “Or, maybe here to surrender yourself, because you have committed an act of treason”

“What I did wasn’t treason” Jon says, unable to hold his tongue. “I needed to rescue Sansa”

“You conspired against me and disobeyed your orders. What would you call that, Jon? Or is it Aegon now?” she snaps. 

“My name is Jon, it will always be Jon” he says, trying to tame the fires inside of her eyes. “I’m sorry if I hurt you”

“Hurt me?” She laughs a humourless, dry laugh. “You don’t have the authority to. I could snap my fingers and my men here will gladly rid me of you. Or better yet, I could ask Drogon to”

Drogon wouldn’t, Jon thinks. That dragon considers me a Targaryen. It wouldn’t hurt one of its own.

Staring into her eyes, Jon knew she wouldn’t. She still loved him. If only he could do the same. 

“Cersei is still in Kings Landing” he says. “You can go there if you like. Take the throne from her, I don’t care. But I have a war to fight, people to protect, and Sansa is dead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace”

Without another word from his lips, Jon turns and leaves.

“Don’t turn your back on your Queen!” Danaerys shouts angrily, but her words have already melted in the candlelight.


	4. chpt four

chpt four

Outside is so bitterly cold that whenever Jon drew in a breath, it felt like ice was becoming trapped in his lungs. It made it hard to breathe, and even harder to concentrate.

He could walk to the Godswood of Winterfell with his eyes closed. He’s been doing a lot of praying ever since the Great War has started, going every evening as the sun dipped downwards in the sky. 

A part of him thinks that praying is useless, that no matter how many times he closed his eyes, and feels the wind on his skin, speaking to the gods in a desperate, pleading voice, he will never be heard.

But there’s always something so powerful about the Godswood. It’s red, fluttering leaves, the rattling sound they make in the wind. And, there’s the faces on the trees. Old, and all-seeing. After finding out about his Targaryen heritage, Jon feared he would no longer feel welcome at the Godswood. But it always welcomed him with open arms, as if he were a trueborn Stark. 

When Jon arrives at the Godswood, he sees Arya and Gendry standing over Sansa’s body, which has been placed on a cot. Sansa’s auburn hair is the same colour as the waving Godswood leaves. Jon imagines that Sansa can feel the cold air on her skin, that maybe she’ll open her eyes and be greeted by the dark navy sky. 

Also standing in the Godswood are Davos, Bran, and Sam. Sam looks almost terrified, shaking like a branch in the wind. When he spots Jon his eyes grow wide. Bran, however, is sitting on his wheelchair with a blank stare, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. But in his lap is a dark, shiny spade of dragonglass. 

“Good, you’re here” Davos says gruffly, his breath misting out from his lips. “We need to do this as quickly as possible” he turns to Bran, who nods. 

“There is a way to bring Sansa Stark back” Bran says in his odd, slow drawl. He stares at Jon, locking eyes with him. “It’s worked before. It’s what the children of the forest did for your uncle, Benjen, to bring him back to life”

Jon stares back at Bran with confusion, and Arya frowns. 

“What do you mean? What happened to Uncle Benjen?” Arya asks, strands of her hair falling into her eyes.

Jon sighs. He doesn’t want to bring up what happened to their uncle, not here, not now. “The children of the forest managed to bring him back to life. But, he...sacrificed himself to save me when I had to go beyond the wall to get a wight to show Cersei”

“You went beyond the wall to get a wight for Cersei Lannister?” Arya’s frown of confusion deepens in her face. Gendry shudders from the memory. 

“It’s unimportant now” Jon says. “What’s important is getting Sansa back”

“But Jon” Davos’s voice is soft, but rings throughout the Godswood, “You the price of life”

Jon knew the word before it left Bran’s lips. “Death. Only death pays for life”

As the wind whistles through the Godswood and Jon’s thick, dark hair, he knows what he must do.


	5. chpt five

chpt five 

The moment Jon voice his suggestion, the Godswood went eerily silent. Not even the rattling of leaves could be heard from the branches, not even the wheezing sound of a person’s breath. 

“Jon, you can’t” Arya says, her lower lip wobbling. “Sansa...she would never want you to”

Jon could almost smile. If Sansa found out that he’d give his life to save hers, she’d probably slap him and call him a fool. But...to save the life of their child...

“It doesn’t matter what Sansa wants. Winterfell needs her more than they do me. Westeros needs her more than they do me. Since my time as being King in the North, I’ve brought a hostile dragon queen right to our doors, and hundreds of our people to die from starvation. They love her” Jon says. 

“But I can’t loose you again” Arya whispers, stepping forward. Gendry puts a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she shakes it off. “I’ve already lost everyone. If this doesn’t work, and I loose you too...”

“It will work” Jon says, firmly. Staring into Arya’s sorrow twisted face, he wants to wrap her in his arms again, like how he did when she was a child. “If it worked for Uncle Benjen, it’ll work for us”

“So you’re going to kill yourself” she says with frustration. Arya turns to Davos, daggers in her eyes. “This is absolute madness”

“I know” Davos’ reply chokes out of him. “But it’s what our king wants”

“I’m no king” Jon sighs. He turns to Arya, walking to her and pulling her close. Tears slip out of his eyes as he squeezes her. “This is all my fault. I must correct it. And this for Sansa”

Jon simply cannot imagine living without her. Without hearing her laugh, see her the corners of her ocean coloured eyes wrinkle as she smiles. And her sweet swinging voice, that could heal any wounded soul.

And their child. Jon may never be able to hold his and Sansa’s child in his arms, but Arya will. Bran will. And so will Sansa, if all goes right. 

When he pulls away, Arya is in tears. She quickly wipes them away, but her mouth shakes. 

When Jon goes to Bran, he realizes that there are two spades of dragonglass. One for me, and for her, he thinks. 

He takes one in his hand. Feels it’s weight, it’s cold surface against the calloused skin of his palms. 

Davos pushes Bran’s wheelchair over to Sansa’s still, dead body. Bran turns his head slowly over to Jon, and the two give each other a slow nod of understanding.

Without a moment’s hesitation, and the same second that Bran puts the dragonglass into Sansa’s chest, Jon plunges the spade into his heart.


End file.
